


Todokete

by radokami



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Christmas, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radokami/pseuds/radokami
Summary: A snapshot of a cozy Christmas morning with Maki, Honoka, and their daughter. Maki attempts to cook.
Relationships: Kousaka Honoka/Nishikino Maki
Kudos: 29





	Todokete

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lord_Byron_Mudkippington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Byron_Mudkippington/gifts).



> This is a fic for the first Secret Santa I've ever been a part of, and all told I think I had fun with it! It challenged me to cover some slightly different ground than I usually do, and I think it turned out okay. I'm already looking forward to next year uwu

A single, piercing buzz of the alarm clock was all it took to snap Maki’s eyes open. She didn’t give it another chance to blare, intent as she was on being stealthy this morning. Even so, there were some rituals she just couldn’t skip. Turning to see Honoka sprawled out next to her, Maki took in the sight for a drawn-out moment before planting a soft kiss on her forehead - even obscured by a chaotic mess of brown hair, she could find it by instinct.

Now she could rise. Quietly as she could manage, she rolled out of the covers, stepped into her slippers, and crept out into the hallway. She tiptoed past the next door, wincing at every creak of a floorboard, deafening in the silence.

But nothing came of it. She reached the living room, softly lit by the lights on the tree, and skirted around the pile of wrapped presents to retrieve the single cookie that had survived Honoka the night before. It was halfway to stale at this point, but Maki still relished it. No limit on sweets today.

After drawing up a thank-you note to leave where the cookies had been, Maki was off to the kitchen to confront her ancient enemy - cooking. Or was this more like baking? She shrugged as she opened the fridge to retrieve her canvas, two tins of premade biscuit dough.

Opening these things never got any easier. She tentatively pressed at the seam on the first tin with her thumb, tensing up in anticipation of that horrible, dull pop. It got the slightest jump from her, then she dumped the contents into a large bowl and braced herself to do the same thing all over again.

Once the tiny hit of adrenaline had dissipated, Maki grabbed the kitchen shears and went to work cutting the dough down to size. This was an easy enough recipe, like cinnamon rolls but not. It was her first time trying this though, and she was no Honoka. But somehow, mercifully, this exercise became meditative, the minutes spent tossing ingredients together while the oven warmed up giving her a chance to gaze out the window at the winter scene outside.

It hadn’t snowed yet. Never did before Christmas, really, but every year without fail she couldn’t help but check anyway. And every year it was cold, damp, usually cloudy. At least this year there were enough breaks in the cloud cover to make out a sunrise lazily creeping in from the horizon, streaks of orange and purple offering a striking complement to the reds and greens and whites of the decorations lining the streets.

Before she knew it, Maki was closing the oven door on her confection, putting it out of mind for the time being. No time to rest, though. Getting ahead on the cleaning always made this day that little bit less overwhelming, so she went to work cleaning up her dishes while she had the chance.

The sounds of scrubbing and running water must have been consuming her more than usual, because it took several purposeful tugs at her shirt before the spell was broken and Maki turned around to see her daughter standing behind her, looking up with an air of barely contained excitement that she’d obviously gotten from Honoka.

“Merry Christmas, Mama!” she half-yelled, dispelling the early morning stillness in spectacular fashion. Not that Maki could blame her. “When’s presents?”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Madoka,” Maki replied with a good-natured chuckle. “And you know, I’m not quite sure, why don’t you ask your mom?”

Without a word, Madoka rushed off down the hallway. The sounds carried clearly: a door opening, a pause, a small but determined shout, tired groaning. After another pause, Madoka emerged triumphantly with an all but zombified Honoka in tow.

“Not that I wasn’t expecting to wake up this way,” Honoka mumbled, hair still shrouding most of her face. She took her place at the kitchen table with a soft thunk. “But I at least thought we’d both get the same wake up call.”

“I had to get up early to save you a bit of work,” Maki cooed, setting down a fresh cup of instant coffee in front of Honoka and parting her hair to get her first real kiss of the day. Still just as thrilling and intoxicating as the first time. “Smell that?”

“I smell you,” she mused dreamily. After a few moments, she perked up. “Oh, cinnamon! Did you make breakfast today?”

“I tried,” Maki hastily qualified. “We’ll see how it turns out. Actually, it should be almost done, let me check.”

“Ooh, what’s for breakfast?” Madoka could hardly sit still, but she was making an admirable effort, perched on the edge of her seat and rocking back and forth. Subtly, she probably thought.

“It’s kinda like cinnamon rolls? But hopefully less messy.” Maki pulled the dish from the oven to reveal a molten mass of cinnamon and sugar. “After it cools. Why don’t we get to work on those presents in the meantime?”

* * *

Hours later, the living room was a familiar kind of disaster. Torn up wrapping paper, used plates and forks and coffee mugs, piles of unwrapped gifts wherever they would fit. Maki and Honoka sat lazily tangled up together under a blanket, soaking up the unusual song that was forming.

Rain lightly but insistently pattered against the window while the delicate plucking of a ukulele sounded beside them, tentative and irregular as the rain. Sometimes a skeletal chord would sound, each consonant one accompanied by a tiny “ooh.”

Maki found something to like in every dissonant interval, every jagged melody. This could be the start of something truly beautiful.

“Safe to say you like it, Madoka?” Honoka intoned in approximate harmony with the playing.

“I do!” Madoka chirped enthusiastically, still idly fiddling with the ukulele. “This is really cool. Thanks, Mom. And thanks, Mama.”

“You’re welcome.” Maki, voice distant, was still a little lost in the sound of the rain and the promise of more music in the house. But she had to come down eventually. She dreamily turned to face Honoka. “Should probably start cleaning up, shouldn’t we?”

Honoka wordlessly hummed in thought for a moment, then squeezed Maki’s hand.

“How about you keep relaxing and I get to work on that? Madoka might need a few pointers sooner or later.”

“You sure? It’ll go faster if we both-”

Before Maki could finish, Honoka leaned in for a kiss, lips still faintly tasting like cinnamon, eyes closed in serene holiday bliss.

“I’ve got this,” Honoka all but whispered. “Promise.”

With another kiss for good measure, they disentangled themselves and Honoka rose, leaving Maki in her reverie and Madoka still exploring her new instrument. The rain picked up, beating more urgently on the windows, but it couldn’t mar the coziness and peace Maki felt, no matter how hard it tried.

She wrapped herself tighter in the blanket and slipped away into the music again.


End file.
